


Control

by Persephone_Van_Dyke



Series: Time Agency [6]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Obedience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone_Van_Dyke/pseuds/Persephone_Van_Dyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I could tie you up, but frankly I have more important stuff to do. Stay.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'Emotion Play' in [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> Not my characters, not making any money from this

  
'Oi, Boeshane Boy!' The door to the cell-like room crashes open. 'We got our First Mission assignments, and guess who I've got?'

'When I said “I'm gonna revise, please leave me alone,” which part of that was so  
difficult?'

His eyes are a bit red, his brown hair mussed where he's dragged his hands through it, trying to kickstart his brain.

'Revision,' said the apparition sarcastically. ' _You_.'

'Ethics final tomorrow,' replied Boeshane. His disturber isn't on the Ethics course. Which explains a lot.

'Fuck it.' Coming into the room, his grin huge, smug. 'Come and celebrate with me. I've been partnered with the best lay in the year.'

A shrug. 'Gotta work.'

'Aw, c'mon,' wheedling. He moves well into his lover's personal space, reaches out with the ease of familiarity to touch him. 'The exam's not til the afternoon, you can come and have a few drinks - ' a hand strays to the sitting man's chest, rubs him sensually.

'No.'

'You're no fun,' pouts Jon. It's a good pout, never fails to appeal.

'OK,' sighs the man at the desk, 'one drink, if I get this lot finished before the mess closes.'

'I'll wait for you.' A raised eyebrow interrogates him. 'I can be quiet.'

He can't, of course. He throws himself onto the narrow bed, kicks his boots onto the covers. Starts to whistle before thirty seconds have passed. When he's dodged the thrown pen and stopped that, it's snapping back his knuckles noisily. Then tapping his boot toes together in rhythm. Finally, random nattering.

'Hey. Reckon they'll send us somewhere good? I heard First Mission last year was hell – tiny little jungle planet on the arse end of the Orion Nebula, lots of weird giant wild boar things with huge - '

'Will. You. Shut. Up?'

'Yeah. Sorry.' A pause of maybe a minute, just long enough for a man to refocus his energies on making notes about the thinking of Aristotle, and then,

'Maybe they'll send us to the Vegas galaxies,' began again behind him.

The pen slams down on the desk.

'That is _it_ , I can't work like this. Come here.'

Almost capering with excitement, Jon jumped off the bed. 'Oooh, goody, we going out now?'

'Nope.' Pulling a chair into the middle of the room, the taller cadet points at it. 'Sit.'

Harsh, cold, and commanding. _Got you_ , Jon thinks. Now they're not just hanging out, now they're in kinky territory. _Brilliant._ He sits down, looks up, trying for plaintive.

'I could tie you up, but frankly I have more important stuff to do. Stay.'

'But - '

'I'm gonna finish this,' he said, 'and you are gonna stay there. Completely quiet. Shut your eyes.'

'Or?' demanded Jon, recalcitrant.

'Or you'll miss out on the fun part.'

'What's the fun part?' Adding, because it seems appropriate, 'Sir?'

Boeshane leans over, face close to his. Somewhere back in those blue eyes, there's a flicker of amusement and arousal – but his face is blank, stolid.

'Eyes shut!'

Jon obeys. Feels a hand reach down, direct, start expertly palming him hard.

'Sit there, and think about all the ways this could go,' comes a soft voice. 'All the things I could do to you. You have to stay hard til I finish revising. No touching, no moving. Eyes shut. Can you do that, Cadet?'

He nods, suppresses a little moan.

The hand is withdrawn. Small sounds indicate that Boeshane has gone back to the desk, started work again.

The first two minutes he's riding the initial arousal and satisfaction of pissing off Blue Eyes so much he gets into Dom mode, but then the stillness begins to wear him. So – ways this could go...

 _He comes over and gets his fingers in my hair, pushes my face against his cock, all hard through his trousers..._ Fragmentary half-images, no plot or direction, the fertile fantasies of a creative and versatile 51st century guy. His cock is pressing up, aching, demanding attention.

 _He comes over and undoes my fly, kneels down, takes me in his mouth..._ A visual, clear, precise, of the look in those blue eyes the first time they did that.

 _He ties me down for real, here – no, on the bed – and uses me, fucks me, doesn't let me come..._ His cock twitches. He loves that order, that control – it makes him mouthy and sulky as hell but orgasm control feels so good when Boeshane does it... _Toys, he's got that Thing with eight vibrating settings, wow I love that one...I can almost feel the way it sits, inside..._

Because he's fundamentally a cheat, he squints under his eyelids, very slightly, to see what's happening.

Warning in the voice from the far side of the room: 'Eyes shut, Cadet.'

He closes his eyes again. How did Boeshane know, without looking round?

 _Really deep, pressing in, right there, makes me want to comerightnow..._

It's an effort, keeping his hands in place. His grip tightens on the arms of the chair. The stray visuals expand, coalesce, shatter and reform.

 _...toy inside me pressing my sweet spot, him groping me, hands tied to the chair, legs tied, blindfold...undoes his trousers and pushes hard into my mouth – making me take all of it, right down, fast, fierce...not letting me come...making me be quiet, gagging me with his cock...fuck yes...'Don't you dare come til I say, Cadet'...that voice when he's close, growling, deeper than usual...trying to obey him so well, so he'll let me...wanttocome...fuckIwanttocome..._

He opens one hand, moves his arm. The click of the buttons of his cuff against the arm of the chair betrays him.

'I said no touching. Want me to leave you there all night?'

'No Sir.' The words came in a gasp. A new throb of heat rushes to his cock.

 _...made to sit still, thinking of him, all night long – tense and excited and trying to behave...god this aches, I can't even adjust it...want him to let me...want him...wanttocome...bastard, playing with me...but good...wow I'm hard..._

His cock is straining against his clothes, aching for attention. His fists ball up on the arms of the chair. He starts, slowly, clenching and relaxing his pelvic floor muscles, which is undetectable, but forces more blood into his sore thickened cock. It's a small, satisfying cheat.

 _...comes over and lets me fuck his mouth – forces me to...no, leaves me still, does it at his pace, torments me...tongue round the tip, over the back, not taking it in, making me beg...gags me so I can't...teases til I know I'm going to but it's not quite enough...leaves me, goes back to his books...leaves me with my cock so hard, ow...fuck...reallywanttocome..._

A sound, small, from the direction of the desk. Cloth, brushing. The pen clicks on the desk. Long near-silence, only breathing. Then a scrape as the chair is pushed back again, footsteps.

From very close, a voice.

'Still hard for me, Cadet?'

Jon can't remember if he's allowed to speak. He's deep into the mindset, and unsure, so half nods.

'What?'

'Yes, Sir.'

He can _hear_ that big grin break through.

'Good. I'm done with revision – you wanna run down to the mess, get a couple of drinks in?'

The noise Jon makes is 'Wuh?'

'No? Not interested in partying now?' He sounds very innocent. 'So what _do_ you wanna do?'

Jon stares up at him.

'Want to come,' he said in a small voice.

Again, the raised eybrow.

'Please?'

'Hm. You were _very_ good. I guess you deserve some fun. Want me to...?'

'Oh, _yeah_.'

And then it's a whirl of hands and mouths and gasping. Jon doesn't even think to get up out of the chair.

  
* * *

  
Later, Jon's head tipped forward on the shoulder of the kneeling man in front of him, they catch their breath.

'Y'know, you were allowed to get out of the chair once I'd finished work,' Boeshane says conversationally.

'I was in the zone,' Jon says, shrugging.

Affectionately, his hair is ruffled.

'C'mon, Shortarse. Mess closes at twelve, let's go get that drink.'

Jon gets up, slowly, feeling weak, cleans up and rebuttons his trousers.

'So what you were saying before,' Boeshane asked, pulling on his uniform jacket. 'Who did you get assigned as a partner?'

Jon stares at him like he's an idiot.

' _You_ , you fuckhead.'

'”Best lay in the year?”' He looks suitably cynical, and just a fraction smug.

Jon gives him an old-fashioned look.

'Well, _duh_.'

Jon doesn't tell him that when he went to the briefing for First Mission, he was told 'We assigned you to him, Cadet, because he's apparently the only person in the Agency capable of controlling you.'

It would only make him even more smug.

END  



End file.
